Whether the marriage is happy or not – is a question of morality.
The young man reflected: “It is clear then that she is a first class beauty. That is the main thing. As for the second part of the communication, it does not mince words about the danger such beauty involves. Can it be that the melon has already been cut open? – No that is very unlikely. Let us wait and see what the second communication says. There must be another since the first one is headed Number 1.”
Again he held out the magic wood, then again he heard rustling and received the second communication, which ran:
It would be presumptuous to bank on your wife’s fidelity;
Accordingly, if the husband values domestic harmony,
He will lock the gates and not admit a fly.
The tiniest fly-dropping will spoil a jewel.
Written by Hui-tao-jen the
returned follower of the Tao.
The three ideograms Hui-tao-jen were familiar to our young man; as he knew, they spelled the surname behind which the Taoist patriarch Lü Shun-yang (Lü Yen, also known as Lü Tung-pin, b. 750 A.D.) had hidden; he was also acquainted with the patriarch’s life and personality; in his time, the young man recalled to his satisfaction, he had been a great devotee and connoisseur of wine and women. So, it was his spirit that had entered into his friend during the seance and guided the brush. Well, yes, he had thrown a little cold water on his projects by warning him of women’s infidelity and bidding him to be on his guard. But there was no need to worry on that score. He would have his father-in-law, that old-fashioned guardian of morality, in the house to watch over his wife’s virtue. What else was Iron Door good for? Moreover, lines three and four of the second communication were a clear allusion to him. There could be no doubt that the spirit approved of his choice.
He made a bow of thanks toward the empty air, intended for the spirit of the patriarch Lü Shun-yang. Then he sent for Mama Liu, the marriage broker.
“The spirit has spoken in favor of my marriage with Miss Noble Scent. A personal inspection is not necessary. Go quickly and settle the details.” Thus dismissed, Mama Liu made all haste to the house of Dr Iron Door, and informed him that her client no longer insisted on previous inspection of his bride-to-be.
“But he did at first,” Dr Iron Door grumbled, “and by so doing showed himself to be deplorably superficial, the kind of man who attaches more importance to externals than to superior character. He is not the son-in-law for me. I must have a man of the utmost moral rigor, who takes a thoroughly serious view of life.”
Intent on her fee, Mama Liu summoned up all her ingenuity to overcome his resistance:
“If he wished at first to see the young lady, his only motive was one of kindness and tact. He was afraid that she might be too frail and delicate for married life. Once I was able to set his mind at rest on that score, he was overjoyed to hear how strictly and carefully she had been raised, and how, thanks to your guidance, she had become a veritable epitome of maidenly virtue. That decided him, and he bade me intercede with you to honor him by taking him into your worthy house.”
Flattered at these remarks, Dr Iron Door nodded his approval. Then it was a sense of delicacy that made him wish to see her first? And it was her sound upbringing that decided him? That sounded sensible and argued very much in the young man’s favor. And he gave his paternal consent.
And so on a lucky calendar day the young man was received in Dr Iron Door’s home, and with Noble Scent on the carpet beside him, made the traditional bows to heaven and earth, ancestors and father-in-law. At nightfall when he was at last alone with her in the bridal chamber and she lifted her veil, he fixed his eyes upon his bride in feverish expectation. For to the last moment a doubt had lurked in a corner of his heart; to the last moment he had thought that Mama Liu’s assurance must be slightly exaggerated, a product as it were of poetic license. But now that he was able to view her close at hand, in the full light of the lamps and candles, his heart leapt with delight. Her beauty exceeded his wildest expectations. Perhaps the best way to give an idea of her charms will be to quote a passage from a recent essay “in memory of the glorious lady of Tsin”:
“Over her person hovers a cloud of dark mystery, a veil of unyielding reticence. Her face and every part of her body are bathed in purest beauty. When she smiles, one would like to take her charming face in both hands. But her charm becomes truly irresistible only when she pouts and knits her brows.
“To be sure, her tender waist and the nine sensitive zones of her body seem almost unequal to the battle of wedlock. Her body seems as soft as if it were devoid of bone structure; even a soft chair offends it.”
How shall we describe the joy of union between bridegroom and bride? Once again we leave the task to a recent essay, this one entitled “Springtime in the Tower of Jasper”:
“From beneath half-closed lids the stars that are her eyes flash an angry message: no! Awakened from deep slumber, the peach blossom declines to open its slender calyx. But eager for the fray, the tongue forces a narrow passage between the lips of the fragrant mouth. A blissful moan-and long pent-up feelings pour forth unrestrained. The dew of desire forms into tiny beads on the silken skin of her breasts. Two pairs of eyes open slowly and gaze plunges deep into gaze. Two hearts flare up into red fire.”
Unquestionably Noble Scent was a peerless beauty, but to her partner’s grief she was an utter failure at the “wind-and-moon game” and the hopes with which he had looked forward to his wedding night remained at least seven-tenths unfulfilled. Small wonder. Thanks to the traditional upbringing she had received from her strict, ultra-conservative parents, she wore an armor of virginal modesty and reserve, against which his tender assaults bounded off without the slightest effect. He was quite dismayed at her lack of response to his advances. If he allowed his language to become even mildly daring or frivolous, she blushed and took flight. He liked to play the “wind-and-moon game” not only at night but also in broad daylight, for it seemed to him that his pleasure was very much increased by the possibility of looking at certain secret parts of the body. On several occasions he attempted, in the morning or afternoon, to insert a bold hand beneath her clothing and to strip off her undermost coverings. The reception was not what he had bargained for. She resisted vigorously and screamed as though threatened with rape. At night, to be sure, she permitted his embraces, but quite apathetically as though merely doing her duty. He had to stick to the stodgy ancestral method, and any attempt at more modern, more refined variations met with fierce opposition. When he attempted the “fetching fire behind the hill” position, she said it was perfectly disgusting and contrary to all the rules of husbandly behavior. When he tried the “making candles by dipping the wick in tallow” position, she protested that such goings-on were utterly nasty and vulgar. It took all his powers of persuasion even to make her prop up her thighs on his shoulders. When their pleasure approached a climax, not the tiniest little cry, not the slightest moan of happiness was to be heard from her. Even when he smothered her in tender little cries of “My heart, my liver,” or “My life, my everything,” she took no more interest than if she had been deaf and dumb. It was enough to drive him to despair. He began to make fun of her and to call her his “little saint.”
“Things can’t go on like this. I must find some way of educating her and ridding her of those awful moral inhibition – the best idea would be some stimulating reading matter.” So saying, he repaired to the booksellers’ quarter. There after a long search he procured a marvelously illustrated volume entitled Ch’un-t’ang, “The Vernal Palace.” It was a celebrated book on the art of love, written by no less a man than the Grand Secretary, Chao Tzu-ang. It included thirty-six pictures, clearly and artfully illustrating the thirty-six different “positions” of vernal dalliance, of which the poets of the T’ang period had sung. He brought the book home with him and handed it to the “little saint.” As they leafed through page after page, he whispered to her: